


Kiss Kiss Fall in Love

by Namaikiii



Category: Joker Game (Anime)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 06:12:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9979880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Namaikiii/pseuds/Namaikiii
Summary: And now you're all thinking of a different show :3Just one of those Reader Insert Drabbles featuring the 8 spies of D Agency





	1. The Cheeky Brat

It was hot. The cloudless, breezeless afternoon did nothing to help the humidity of this mid-June heat as you lay on your back of the dojo’s floor. Your mind was replaying the past few minutes, trying to recall where you went wrong to wind up in this position.

The first attack had been executed well enough and you had managed to react in time to dodge his counter. Was it during the turn that left you vulnerable? Had he predicted your movements and forced you into that kick? The last few seconds had been a blur because one moment you were sure you’d be able to at least land a hit on him, and then the next there was a loud ungraceful thud as back collided with smooth wood.

“Hmm? Looks like it’s my win. Again.” A languid voice came from the other side of the room. Despite his casual observation, Hatano’s tone indicated no surprise. If anything, it had a teasing drawl to it.

You sighed irritably and kept your eyes glued to the ceiling, trying to ignore his presence for the next few minutes while you tried to recover the strength to at least sit back up. But with this weather, the heat waves and your cotton uniform -that was now soaked with sweat- was dead weight pressing you against the floor.

Hatano seemed unperturbed by your silence and made his way over slowly. You knew him well enough by now to know without looking that his plain expression was covering a cheeky smugness. The two of you had been sparring for a good chunk of today with 5 practice matches to end the training.

Needless to say, it was a flawless victory for him. Which was to be expected. He was your senior after all and the whole point of these sessions was to teach you. It’s not like you expected him to go easy but he could at least have the decency to leave you alone for a bit to cool down from your defeat(s). Instead, it seemed like he was coming over to add insult to injury.

Light footsteps stopped by your side and this time you could hear his voice from above.

“Need a hand?” You felt a very slight shift in the air as he extended an arm.

“No thanks.” Instead of taking his hand you swatted it away and shut your eyes, trying to will his presence away….or at least pretend his existence wasn’t there.

The cicadas were chirping to their erratic cadence. _10 more seconds. I’ll get up in 10 seconds_.

“Oi, you should get up.”

“Leave me alone for a bit.”

“The floor needs to be mopped.” This brat. He wasted no time with his quips. He didn’t even sound out of breath.

“………..5 more sec-“

Something soft pressed against your forehead.

By the time you fluttered your eyes open, Hatano was already rising from his crouched position beside you. You scrambled off your back and turned in your seat to see him walking towards the closet on the other end of the room, arms folded behind his head in his usual nonchalant posture.

“Come on, hurry up. Fukumoto is gonna fuss if we’re late to dinner.”


	2. The Gentle Giant

The sound of the whisk scraping at the bottom of the bowl was an oddly pleasant noise that filled the otherwise quiet kitchen. Taking care to make sure the cream didn’t spill out of its mixture, you sneaked a quick glance to check on the figure next to you. Sharing the counter space, as well as your assistant for the day, was a looming giant. A looming, taciturn, poker-faced giant who would’ve immediately intimidated anyone with his presence if they didn’t know him better. Luckily, you were one of the few who did.

“Fukumoto-kun you need to make sure you level off the sugar before adding it in.”

“Ah….my bad.” Fukumoto used his index to swipe away the excess from the measuring spoon before dumping it into his own bowl.

“It’s fine. We were able to catch it before it got mixed in.” You flashed a quick, reassuring smile before turning back to your own work. This was about as much conversation the two of you had on a usual basis, only exchanging words when it related to whatever you guys were making that day, but it seemed to suit you both just fine. A comfortable silence.

This kitchen partnership had come about as an unspoken arrangement. Since the two of you were the resident kitchen-masters, Fukumoto for cooking and you for baking, the two of you had naturally become curious in the other’s field of expertise. It started out with visits well before meal time to watch the prep work, or a lingering presence observing what you were up to long after the dishes had been cleaned and put away. Slowly but surely though, that initial curiosity grew into this tradition, the two of you alternating between being head chef or assistant to help one another out as well as to learn the other’s trade.

By now everyone else had long cleared the dining area so you and Fukumoto had plenty of time to make desserts. However when it came to whisking, you tended to tune out your surroundings if you got too into it, trying to mix at a fast enough speed to get the perfect peaks to form.

“__________, how do I tell if the batter is the right consistency?”

“Hm- Bwah!!” You had been so focused on your task that the sudden question caused your head to jerk up at the interruption. And sure enough, your mixing hand followed suit and slipped out from its rhythmic circles, sending up a wad of whipped cream to your face.

Fukumoto stood stock still as he watched the scene unfold, and continued to watch motionlessly as you hurried to set your bowl down and grab a dish towel to wipe away the confection. You buried your face in the rag a little longer than necessary though as you could tell your cheeks were getting red with embarrassment. Once you could feel that it had cooled down a bit, you raised your head to grin at him with a sheepish expression.

“I’m sorry Fukumoto-kun, what was your questi-“

“You missed a spot.” A large hand suddenly reached towards your face.

Instinctively you squeezed your eyes shut in anticipation. Wait. Anticipation? For what? Well…..something. It was natural for one to close their eyes if something was coming close to their face, right? Like when a fist is flying at you, or a ball, or when a bee zones in on you.  But Fukumoto wasn’t a fist…or a ball…or a bee….

After a moment, you realized that nothing had happened. Of course not. Thinking about it now, why would anything happen? Despite his presence, Fukumoto was very gentle and would never do anything to upset or hurt you.

Cracking one eye open, you could make out the tall boy staring down at you (still a casual distance away) with a blank expression, eyes holding a slight curiosity as he licked the frosting off from his thumb.

“Is something the matter?”

“…A-ah, no. I’m fine!” You yelped that last line out a bit too emphatically. “I’m fine, really I’m fine, hahaha.”

If Fukumoto had any doubts about the way your laughter trailed off a bit too feebly, he didn’t let it show. Instead, he simply gave a slow blink, and a single nod before turning back to his bowl, giving you some more time to yourself to recover from that fiasco. Grateful for the polite gesture, you breathed out a relieved sigh and picked up the whisk from the floor.

Shaking the tool over the sink to get the clinging bits off, you cursed inwardly when one fling too strong sent a few more flecks of cream onto your face. You grimaced as you peeked to see if Fukumoto had caught your clumsy moment. Luckily his gaze was down and focused on folding the batter so he didn’t notice. Determined to clean this mess up quickly and to save yourself from any future blunders, you had just started to sponge the whisk when a shadow suddenly loomed in and over you from the side.

“?!” With both hands full, you didn’t have much of a chance to react, let alone say anything. One moment the few drops of frosting were melting on your cheek, and the next they were gone.

Fukumoto casually continued his walk to the oven with cake batter in hand. You couldn’t crane your head up in time to see his face clearly when he passed by, but you could’ve sworn there was something close to a smirk on the corner of his lips. This time it was your turn to stand silent and motionless, letting everything that just happened sink in. The oven door opened, then closed, and the sink was still running by the time you slowly opened your mouth.

“Fukumoto-kun…”

“Hmm?”

“You’re a tease.”


	3. The Sweet Devil

“Mais oui, je t'aime, loi deet-“

“Lui dit.”

“…dit?”

“Oui.”

“…lui dit la fleur…” You continued reading the passage while trying not to giggle at Jitsui’s reply. It was kind of him to help you with your French, to give the impression that you were making fun of him was not your intention.

The two of you were sitting in the empty classroom, wooden chairs turned towards one another instead of the desks. Jitsui was sitting in his perfect posture with the same copy of your book, holding it gently by the cover corners so as to not wear down the binding.

His focus however, had been on your lips for a while. Not that it bothered you in the slightest. Ever the diligent helper, he was watching the way your mouth formed every word to make sure you were pronouncing them correctly, intervening to point out mistakes when necessary.  To an outsider it might have seemed strange for such a pure looking boy to be openly gawking at your lips, but you knew better. Actually, it was _because_ Jitsui was so innocent that you knew he was only helping with such earnest intentions. It was as simple as that.

While staring at you though, the dark haired boy had caught sight of your small grin and quickly raised the book to cover his flushed face. It was also a known fact to all that he blushed quite easily.

“Tu n'en as rien su, par ma faute… Jitsui, how does that translate?”

“I-I’m sorry?” He lowered the book to look up at you with wide, doe eyes. It was the same expression that always made him mistaken for younger than his age.

“Come on Jitsui,” you chided, this time not bothering to stifle a soft laugh. “You need to focus.”

“My apologies ______-san. Umm let’s see…” his dark eyes roamed across the pages frantically, trying to find the quote you had just mentioned.

“Page 17. The one that starts with ‘Tu n’en…’” Perhaps teasing him wasn’t the best way to soothe his nerves. It was mean of you, you admit, but it was fun to see a side of him that was different from his polite and collected composure.

“Ah, that one. It means: It is my fault that you have not known it all the while.”

“Merci,” you replied, with a grateful nod in his direction. Jitsui flashed a quick, shy grin before darting his eyes back to the book.

It was odd that he never maintained eye contact with you, at least for more than a blink. He was the type to be friendly and courteous to anyone, but still keep to himself. This only made you more curious to discover what other sides there might be to him, hence the occasional prodding questions and teasing. It was all harmless fun, you thought.

“Cela n'a a…au….”

“Aucune.”

“Aucune importance….Oh dear,” you groaned at the upcoming lines.

“Is something wrong ______-san?” As if the concern in his voice wasn’t enough, Jitsui lowered the book onto his lap to give you his full attention.

“These next lines. I’m terrible with following accent marks.”

“Oh those,” this time it was his turn to break into a light chuckle. “They’re not that bad once you break it down into small chunks. Here, I’ll help you.”

He set his book aside on the desk and got up, taking only a few steps before he stood at your shoulder. Suddenly all bashfulness was gone, erased with his eagerness to share his knowledge. Jitsui rested one hand on the back of your chair and leaned over to point out a small chunk of words.

“You can make small groupings of words even if there’s no punctuation between them. Let’s try with this first.”

“Alright,” you were a bit taken aback by the sudden closeness but managed to appear unaffected as your gaze shifted from looking up at the boy, back to the book you held in your hand. “Mais tu as été…?”

“That was good, now how about this next set?”

Slowly, you were becoming all too aware of just how close your helper had gotten. He didn’t seem to notice how his arms had managed to trap you in your seat as one side brushed against your shoulders and the other against your own arm…or the fact that now his sweet voice was right above your head.

“…aussi sot q-qui mue…” Was it your imagination or did something brush against your hair?

“Que moi,” he softly repeated. Jitsui had lowered his head a bit so that now he was practically whispering into your ear. “It’s not like you to mess up on those words ______-san.”

“Whhoops,“ you laughed shakily, trying to brush it off in a casual manner. “I guess I got a bit distracted…”

“Distracted?” Although he had leaned away to give you a quizzical look, giving you a break from that close proximity, you suddenly realized what you had just said.

You swallowed inaudibly, mind racing to think of some excuse for your slip of the tongue. Luckily, Jitsui seemed to dismiss the idea and turned his attention back to the book. “Well no matter. Then let’s continue with just these three.”

“Alright. Let’s see…” your inward sigh of relief was cut short when Jitsui leaned over again, this time on the other side of you. With the way he was positioned now, the boy could’ve easily hugged you from the back. All he needed to do was fold his arms around you…However you were too embarrassed to point anything out and tried to continue as normal.

“Tâche d'être heureux…” with shaky breath and after a few minutes, you managed to continue through the most difficult parts. By now you didn’t think Jitsui needed to give you pointers, but he didn’t move back to his seat.

“Keep going ______-san, you’re doing great.” Despite the fact that Jitsui’s usual, encouraging voice was still there, by now you knew he was up to something. Or rather, you couldn’t deny it. During that time he had managed to creep in a little closer to you, to the point where his lips were hovering over your cheek. But you were determined not to let your nerves get the best of you and continued reading.

“… Laisse ce globe tranquille. Je n'en veux plus….”

Finally, It was becoming incredibly difficult to keep up this façade as you could _feel_ where he was by the way his soft breaths would leave a trail on you. His chin had been resting on your shoulder when slowly, you felt his head turn in towards you until you felt a muted warmth on the crook of your neck.

“!!!!” The book clattered to the floor.

“Yare yare…” Jitsui stood upright again. Walking around you, he knelt down before you to pick up the book and dusted it off before offering it with a simple ‘here you go’. You didn’t take it right away. You finally had a clear view of his face to try and figure out what’s been happening and while the boy’s cherubic smile was still the same, it was hard for you to believe that it held simple innocence at this point. If anything, you were searching him warily.

Tilting his head in confusion, Jitsui rested the book on your lap. “What’s wrong ______-san? You look a bit flustered.”

He was doing it on purpose. And again, he didn’t give you a chance to reply as he smoothly rose to his feet and this time leaned in front of you. Finally, you caught a dark glint in his eyes as his smiling (smirking?) face approached yours ever so closely,

“Come on ______-san. You need to focus.”


	4. The Narcissistic Cynic

You hadn’t been aware of it at first, but the soft, classical tunes had slowly seeped into your very being. Inhaling to the smooth glides of rising arpeggios and brush strokes lightly dancing with each staccato, you could only assume that the melodies were also painting the picturesque scene before you. In the midst of empty stools, scattered easels, and drying canvases sat your model muse for the day, an auburn haired Adonis who seemed to tilt his head back ever so slightly in a knowing manner. Knowing that, despite his closed lids, he held captive the audience of every object that encircled him. And it really did seem so, not just because he was already sitting in the center of the studio, but because the manner of each chair and furniture alike seemed to hold themselves at attention before the man. He held the gaze of all within that room.

Well, all except for you. For you it was more so the image of him on your canvas that held your attention, but an image of Miyoshi was still, by extension, himself and surely you thought, that must be where his demure smirk was coming from. He never gloated about it out loud, nor did he ever attempt to make any claim for such a thing, such gaudy attention seeking was too petty for him. No, the man before you only displayed his ~~narcissism~~ confidence through the way he carried himself, through elegantly crafted words, through beguiled grins, and through subtle flourishes in posture that –to an unknowing eye- would have been the all too perfect gentleman. It never took much effort for him to charm anyone, it was always more a question of when.

And that was surely his current ~~dilemma~~ curiosity with you at the moment. Miyoshi had easily agreed, but with a resigned sigh for show, to sit in for your portrait session that day, thinking that he had finally managed to charm more than just polite friendliness from you. But when he arrived this morning there was no change in your behavior towards him. On the contrary, the fact that you were carrying on with your unaffected normalcy, despite being the only two in the room, had tickled his pride a bit…..not that he would consciously acknowledge that, let alone admit to it. But there you were, more focused on a 2 dimensional imitation of him on some piece of fabric than the living flesh that inspired it.

“Miyoshi,” you began, head down and unaware to how his senses stood at rapt attention to the sound of your voice.

“Yes?” He kept his body still lest he ruin your sketch, but a knowing grin surfaced across his lips.

“Would you like to take a break?” You were asking the same question…..for the fourth time.

Silence. His patient smile only grew wider and he scoffed inwardly at his disappointment in your choice of conversation. “No, I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure? You could stretch for a bit. It won’t ruin the picture.” Which meant that you were almost done. And that soon, his presence would no longer be required.

When you didn’t hear his reply you finally pried your head away from the canvas to look up at him. His eyes were open now and gazing around at the various framed art that hung between the arched windows. You thought he looked a lot more charming this way, when he behaved more naturally and didn’t wear that all-knowing ~~smirk~~ grin on his face. The Miyoshi you had wanted to capture was the one before you right now, stripped of his pompous air and at ease in an environment that suited him, one of beauty that didn’t seek attention.

Perhaps it was another hour or so when you spoke up again, this time in the lull of a piano sonata.

“There we go, you’re all done Miyoshi. Thank you for the help.”

“I think I’ll stay a bit longer.”

Confused, you tilted your head to the side again to see the man, still seated on the 3 legged stool in the clearing of the studio, this time resuming his statuesque stillness and eyes closed again. It was curious of him, in that it was unlike him to not excuse himself right away to attend to the other errands and tasks that kept him busy on a day to day basis. But your curiosity stopped there. What he chose to do didn’t concern you. Besides, you were eager to finish this piece.

An hour passed. You got up from your seat once to grab some paint from the cabinet.

Another hour. Not once had you looked up as your head was either focused on mixing the colors to the hues you desired, or hiding behind the 3 x 4.5.

There was a sound of wood scraping against the floor.

“Hm? Are you leaving now?” You didn’t even look up this time.

He didn’t bother to put his suit jacket back on, instead folding it neatly over one arm as he made his way over to you.

“Miyoshi…what are you doing?” The door was on the other side.

By now the veiled rays of sunlight and baby breaths of breezes were in full midday bloom, playing with the long sheer curtains that billowed around the figure approaching you.

He ignored your question as he leaned over you, quietly pulling the brush away and lifting your hand up to his face.

“Miyoshi?”

He kept his gaze fixated on your hand, his face so close that his hair would brush along your knuckles with every passing breeze. When he spoke, he finally lifted his gaze to meet your eyes.

“Look at me, _______.”

And with that, he closed the distance between his lips and your hand.


	5. The Candy Man

Big band, dance hall.

Rhythmic beats thundering the ceilings with their echoes.

Hardwood planks peppered with clacking heels.

The scene unfurls faster than a film roll as you spin rapid revolutions around his sunny smile. You had met him for less than an hour and yet no one would deny that the 2 of you may as well have been together on a date. He was sweet. He was jovial. And goddamn did he know how to have a good time.

Blaring trumpets and shrills of saxophones.

The upbeat swing picking up.

The room swaying to and fro like lulls of the sea (or was it one glass too many?) as you two clasp arms again. Amidst the band and the sea of chatter, he hears your gale of laughter twirl in with the noise.

Staring into eyes as warm as chocolate, an impish grin sprouts across your lips as an idea strikes you. Even with your lacquered heels you need to push up on your toes to near his clean-shaven jaw and slightly parched lips. A woody scent mixed with caramel and warm spices, you wouldn’t mind getting intoxicated by this spell.

“What’s this? Well aren’t you being the daring princess.”

He chuckles as he denies your request with a finger pressed to your waiting lips.

“And why not? I thought we had something going here.” You weren’t the type to give up easily.

“Too many eyes,” was his simple reply with a knowing smile and resigned shrug.

“Didn’t think you were the old fashioned type.”

From a cheeky pucker to a cherry pout, you concede with a petty whine.

Well, no matter. The next beat was starting up and you were determined to make the most of tonight.

And so it went. A carousel of dances, drinks, and delightful conversation. You two parted ways every now and then, when another man would ask to cut in, or when a wanton gaze became too persistent for him to ignore. There were a number of suitors on both ends but none managed to keep the two of you apart for long. Even while dancing with other partners, the two of you would often exchange knowing glances and mischievous smirks in passing. It was quite exhilarating actually. A hide and seek. Finding one another again and again at empty tables or the bar counter and acting out a first encounter with a stranger all over again. Before you knew it, the pianist was already announcing the last set for the night.

An unfinished glass, a pulling of a sleeve, and you had him back on the dance floor again.

Loops and twirls. Spins and whirls.

Giggles and outright guffaws at clumsy steps.

His hat had long gone missing. Disheveled hair was getting slick.

Oh how you prayed to God you would remember this night.

There was no denying that there was something between the two of you that was sweeter than honey, yet hotter than whiskey.

A quickened bass and blaring brass. This would be the final piece.

Suddenly, a looped arm around your waist.

Stumbling backwards through the sea of dancers.

“Amari? Wait! What are you doing?” Or rather, where were you going?

Once you two squeeze through the jiving crowd, he takes your hand to lead you through the empty tables.

A clumsy maze with the two of you stumbling over chairs and pulling one another up and along to the wall side, laughing all the while.

He collapses first with an exuberant sigh. But before you can pull up a chair of your own, strong arms pull you back onto his lap.

Breathless panting, chest heaving.

Pearly whites beaming amidst dewy skin.

Loosened tie. Loosened curls.

“Oh?” Your voice has a teasing lilt as he gently guides your chin down. “And what happened to there being ‘too many eyes’ hmm?”

A devilish grin. His signature wink.

“I figured here should be safe.” And indeed, the whole hall seemed to have squeezed themselves onto the wooden floors for the finale. Not a chair around you was occupied.

You feign a scandalized gasp. “And if someone _were_ to see?”

Chaste pecks peppered down the neck.

Lips pressed between where collarbones meet.

Well, no matter. Things will find a way to work themselves out.


	6. The Mischievous Playboy

A short tug at the lamp chain and darkness enveloped the room. You had read far enough into your novel to start feeling drowsy and the noise of the city below was finally beginning to retreat into a subdued mumble. Glancing at both sides of your room to make sure the windows were all shut, you gave a satisfied nod -interrupted by a mewl of a yawn- and settled yourself under the covers.

It was a typical Friday, which meant that it was only in the late twilight hours when it truly started to feel like night. The perks of living near the red light district. A small sacrifice if it meant living in the heart of the city. On a different day you might have been out dancing with the rest of the crowd. But not tonight. Without any sightings of him the past few weeks, there wasn’t anyone to dress up for. A quiet night in had become a good distraction and the muffled breezes were becoming the only sound outside, the perfect cue for sleep.

Drifting consciousness and slow breaths were beginning to match the lulls of the wind when-

A loud thump. Something fell?

The bus boy taking out the trash next door. Normal.

The beams of the fire escape landing creaking, under the weight of movement.

A cat. Doubtful. It sounded too large to be a stray feline but you were eager to find a reason to dismiss the noise.

A metallic rattle. Startled. The sound was much too close for comfort.

Your panic grew as the noise got louder and the fear froze you to the bed. You didn’t dare turn your head.

Rob-

The window opened. The blanketed sound of the wind suddenly came to life, filling the spaces of your room.

A sigh of relief. Slightly. The rush of blood was still pounding through you loud and clear.

There was only one person who knew that the latch to your window switched up instead of the typical down, and that to unlock it, the latch needed to be held at the odd position of 35°. An architectural mishap that you were now grateful for.

Unsure whether to feign sleep or to welcome the intruder, you held your breath as you listened. The sound of a jacket shrugged off onto the chair, the quiet slip of a tie becoming undone, the shuffle of slipping out of leather shoes…

Still, a doubting curiosity nagged at your brain to make sure it was him. He was the only man you ever invited over but you hadn’t seen him for weeks, almost months. The two of you never exchanged letters and neither knew each other’s numbers.

The mattress groaned under the weight of another body and a lift of the blanket exposed your backside to the chilling air. Immediately though, a warmth replaced where your sheets had been and an arm wrapped around to rest on your waist. His cotton shirt was rolled at the sleeves and probably needed a good ironing.

You tried to turn around to face him but a weary sigh breathed against your hair as he nuzzled his head into the groove of your neck.

The smell of one too many cigarettes. Stress.

Surprisingly no trace of alcohol. Overworked?

Either way, he was simply exhausted.

There were a few breaths of quiet before you decided to break the silence.

“Where-”

“Shhh.”

He never answered that one. Had he been more energized he would’ve smoothly navigated around the topic with a witty joke. Honestly though, you had no idea what he did for a living or why it required him to be gone for long periods of time, but you learned that it was better not to ask.

“Will you be back?”

You never really knew when he would drop by or when he would return, if at all.

“…Just let me sleep.”

Come morning there would be no trace that he was ever there. No warmth in the blankets, no sunken space beside you, no creases or lingering cologne on the pillow. You may as well have been next to a ghost.

Silence.

You were wide awake now but he had already drifted off. With a resigned sigh you closed your eyes.

“I missed you.” He mumbled.

“You’re being awfully honest today.” You didn’t try to hide the sarcasm

You felt him prop himself up on an elbow. He adjusted the strap of your chemise back to where it belonged.

Dry lips pressed against the top of your shoulder and through cracked eyes, you could finally see the profile of his face.

Tousled brown hair, and sunken circles beneath his eyes. Waxy skin that glowed with a pallid hue under the moonlight.

But it was gone in a blink. He tossed himself back on the pillow and drew you in closer.

He was going to be gone for a while. 


	7. The Shrinking Violet

_Ting-a-ling~_

The chime above the door jingled as you turned your head to say the usual store greeting at the visitor. Upon recognizing his face however, your customary grin became a genuine smile. He wasn’t necessarily a regular customer, but he dropped by enough times within a year to be recognizable. And as was his custom, he was here yet again for a bouquet. For who? You never managed to fish out a clear answer. You had tried various titles over the course of his steady visits.

Wife? No.

Girlfriend? No.

A child or some other adorable relative? None.

Surely not a mistress?! No, you didn’t have the courage to venture into that territory. He didn’t seem the type.

Nonetheless, it was surely someone he greatly admired and even moreso adored if his choice in flowers was any indicator. Contrary to his appearance, the man seemed to know quite a bit about the various flora your store had to offer and his nose was even keener, his bouquets always leaving as a harmonious potpourri. One time you had jokingly asked if by any chance he worked as a perfumist. To which he blushed an immediate rosey hue and you apologized amidst a fit of laughter.  

The two of you wandered around the small shop, you trailing behind to pick the different stems he picked after careful inspection. Once you made a full round, the dark haired gentleman would take a seat and wait while you crafted the arrangement into something presentable. Your work was almost done when you noticed a few of the clusters were not holding their shape. You frowned.

“Is something wrong?”

“Nothing big, just that a few of them are going to wilt before you get to your destination.” He really did have keen senses to notice your slight pout from across the room. “I’ll go ahead and replace them with a fresh batch we cut earlier today.”

“I’ll get them for you.”

Ever the gentleman, he sprang to his feet and began searching for the flowers in question. His earnestness was sweet but what he didn’t know was that you had put the new bunch under the center table hidden behind the older batches, as a sort of reserve. No customer would be able to know the difference, let alone find it. But then again, he didn’t seem to be an ordinary customer.

You chuckled to yourself as you made your way over and began to move the tin buckets aside. Not too long after, you saw black dress shoes stop on the other side of the table as he began to assist you.

“You really don’t have to do this Tobisaki-san,” you chided him benignly.

“No please, allow me. You’re already doing me a great favor.” It seemed he was quite determined to not trouble you any further, although he also seemed to be forgetting that you were being paid for your services.

You smiled wryly and decided to:

 

 

**A: Reach down and get the flowers yourself before he can get to it.**

**B: Wait and allow him to help you.**

 

 

* * *

 

**A: Reach down and get the flowers yourself before he can get to it.**

      “Don’t be silly, you sir are our customer.” you knelt down and saw the lavender bundle.

         Crawling on your hands, you made your way over until your face was hovering right beside the purple flowers. It looks like you won this race. It was definitely the right batch. The pleasant fragrance was still strong and you couldn’t help but lean in to get another whiff of the sweet scent. Since it seemed like there was enough time to enjoy this small victory, you decided to bury your face in and let the fuzzy blooms tickle your nose. You closed your eyes to savor this quick moment before making your way back up when you felt something else brush across the stub of your nose. Or rather, bump. It retreated right away.

         Interrupted from your peaceful moment, you opened your eyes to peer over the lavender cluster. It must have been an odd scene, two grown adults with their bodies half hidden under a table full of flowers, but you were too busy processing what had just happened to pay the situation any mind. You brought up a hand to touch the tip of your nose, which for some reason was now a bit moist. Looking up, you noticed that Mr. Tobisaki had made his way over as well and now the two of you were peering at each other through the tall purple flowers.   His innocent eyes were wide open and even from the shade you both were under, you could make out a dark blush creeping across his face.

* * *

**B: Wait and allow him to help you.**

      With a resigned sigh, you stood to brush off your apron and made your way over to his side.

      “Is this the one?” To your mild surprise, he did indeed find the right batch of gardenias.

      “You know, you have a real knack for this. With that nose of yours, maybe we should hire you.” You accepted the flowers as he smiled sheepishly. You murmured a quick thank you and headed to the counter to finish your work while he set about returning the display to as it was. It didn’t take you long to finish and soon you were making your way back over to the table, cradling the large bouquet with both arms.

      “Here you go,” you announced from behind his crouched figure. “Please don’t worry about cleaning the rest up. I can put them back.”

      He looked over his shoulder and gave a quick grin, but didn’t stop working. That stubbornness of his…But you didn’t have to wait for long. In the next moment he was standing up and beaming at your handiwork.

      “It looks beautiful. Thank you so much.”

      “You were the one who picked them, I just wrapped it up,” you smiled nonetheless. “Knowing you though, you’d probably appreciate the fragrance a lot more.”

      Accepting the invitation, he took the bundle from you and proceeded to lower his head when an idea struck you. Lifting yourself on your toes, you leaned forward through the colorful cluster.

_Smooch!_


	8. The Young Magician

The midday sun gleams against the specks of turquoise and violet feathers pecking around us. But despite the warm mood, you’ve yet to meet my gaze. You refuse. So quietly, I observe as you break off a few more crumbs and toss it out. And as we watch the flock gathering before us, we continue to sit in silence, a still oasis amongst the current of people passing by.

It wasn’t too long ago when this silence had been comfortable. We were able to pass hours without the pressure of forcing meaningless conversation. We were never a fan of small talk. But on other days those same hours could pour from a boundless fountain of topics, and it was on those days that I could glimpse the twin stars in your eyes that I had first been drawn to.

But now that shine was gone. The well was empty. This familiar bench has become a desert.

The magic is gone.

It was an inevitable end, and yet knowing so I let it go on further than necessary.

Had it been a mercy, or a mistake, to let us continue this far? Dragging it out to let you believe that it was you who came to the conclusion to put an end to this, to give you the illusion of control…or was I looking for some hope in a heart that I couldn't control? I’d rather leave the answer to that in the dark.

Instead my mind wanders to the past, reflecting and recollecting to brighter days. Days when we communicated our love in secret affection, private moments stolen behind newspapers, hidden with hats, and under umbrellas. We weren’t fans of prying eyes.

But as infatuation grew, so did the curiosity. The first sign. Yet I didn’t stop there.

So we grew to be comfortable enough to the point of domestic. Almost. You hadn’t noticed the way I changed the conversation when it came to talks of the future, “our future” you would call it. Conversations of household affairs, of family and faith, where you took my silence as consensus and I never corrected you. There was a time when you had asked if I believed in God. I offered a small smile. You said you’d keep me in your prayers. And although I know better, I now wonder if you still hold me in that faith.

They say tomorrow will have grey skies but today already looks so bleak in this city. Your eyes are still puffed and have the reddish tint from last night.

It should have been a sign, for both you and me, when my visits became erratic and infrequent. More so when you began to question why I would return fragrant with different perfumes. My dismissive answers meant to placate instead frustrated you to no end and often arguments would conclude as a cold dead end on my part. Despite all your pleading and distraught, I held to my silence. But to my surprise you decided to believe in me. We both knew each other’s farce, yet decided to continue the act.

The final sign was when you began to call a body instead of a place, your home. A mistake you came to learn too late that night when you realized that no matter how closely we held our bodies together, it could no longer warm our hearts. Your nails. That tight grip. You were clinging so desperately for something more than carnal intimacy.

And finally this week you, or rather a shell of you, asked if I had ever really loved you. And somewhere inside a soft pang could have stirred me but I didn’t move from the doorway to comfort your sobbing figure. All this time you had been searching for someone who might’ve existed in me before, and perhaps I was curious to see if he was still there as well…in some deep abyss. But now I knew for sure, whether he existed or not, he will never come to surface. I couldn’t allow it. At most I could parade around in his image but it would only be one of many personas. Never anything more than an illusion.

I will admit, these days it’s getting harder to tell if I’m a man wearing the mask of a monster, or a monster masquerading as a man. The man you thought you had fallen for ended up being nothing more than a mirage of someone who doesn’t exist in this society, or in this world. It was time for me to return to the darkness.

Once we leave this bench, you won’t turn to look back and l won’t chase after you. Not anymore.

As we get up, you dust the crumbs off your lap and I adjust the lining of my coat.

The show is over. This will be the final trick.

I call your name and you finally turn to face me in the same dazed way like so many countless times before. After a quick tug at the cuff, I give a flick of the wrist. A motion you always noticed, were once enthralled by, but could never figure out. That’s all I need.

Let me see the wonder in your eyes one last time. That innocent gleam of awe alights at the sight of hundreds of wings taking flight, feathered clouds now enveloping us away from the rest of the world. But it will only last for a moment.

No apologies would amount to anything at this point, but-

Thank you...for your patience. Thank you for your faith in me. Thank you for understanding this far with so little.

I catch you by the waist and sweep you in.

Our last farewell. Let it be a beautiful goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :)


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